Peter Bogdanovich

The Last Picture Show

What’s Up, Doc?

2022 is already off to a rough start. Don’t get me wrong, I have hope for the future and yada yada yada but if you’re even slightly culturally aware, you’ve been mourning the loss of too many film, television, and music icons lately. Betty White, Bob Saget, Jean-Marc Vallée, Ronnie Spector, Sidney Poitier, and the topic of tonight’s viewing: Peter Bogdanovich—an architect of the Hollywood film renaissance, a cross-generational tastemaker, Dr. Melfi’s therapist on The Sopranos, ascot-aficionado, and above all, a lover of film. Bogdanovich began as a film critic then charmed his way into the director’s chair after Roger Corman declared his love for his writing. (Goals) For 60+ years, the film industry was operated and powered solely by production companies, until a new wave of young directors came around and shook up the entire structure of the business. For the first time, directors weren’t at the mercy of marketing and studio heads, and with this freedom came a bolder, more distinctive sense of cinematic style. In many ways, Bogdanovich and other directorial leaders in this movement forever changed what we expect from movies. Large-scale, big-budget movies will always come out of wealthy production studios and make decent amount of money, Gal Gadot and Ryan Reynolds will always get into sexy hijinks that the whole family will love, but these movies are not even judged in the same way other modern day films are. They’re somewhat a part of the cultural conversation, but they could never be compared to the indie films made by the passionate, involved directors whom film bros and myself worship. The intimacy and universality of these films make them stay in the heads of viewers for longer, and stand the test of time. They do not pander or patronize, they do not seek to tell empty stories, they are very intentionally, meticulously made. These types of directors just simply weren’t around before this new wave, although if Peter Bogdanovich read that he’d say that his buddy Orson Welles’ fell into that category and I’d say, I prefer Orson’s ads for Peeps over any of his films. The life and legacy of Peter Bogdanovich is storied, illustrious, and controversial. He made several compelling films, but no story he brought to life will ever be as wild as his own personal romantic life—particularly his saga with Playboy Playmate Dorothy Stratten and her sister Louise. It’s a story that I won’t try to compress here, but I encourage you to fall down the rabbit holes of Wikipedia like I did during my research. But I digress. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve loved Paper Moon, one of Bogdanovich’s most famous and most adored films. He was able to make a black-and-white, depression-era comedy entertaining to me back when I was even younger than the Oscar-winning star of that film Tatum O’Neal. While I was just as captivated with his heavily-nominated 1971 film The Last Picture Show, another black-and-white, old-timey tale set among the tumbleweeds, I can’t say it made me feel as joyful as Paper Moon did, but this was just a different kind of movie. Set in a small town in Texas called Anarene (and filmed in Archer City, Texas), The Last Picture Show presented a very non-nostalgic look back in time that made me wonder: is this the first movie about nothing? There certainly is a premise, with main and supporting characters, but at times The Last Picture Show felt like a bleak, somber, 50s era Dazed and Confused. The desolate, depressive desert vibes were on point and while loss seems to be at the center of this film’s story, the attitude was not entirely gloomy. The bright smiles of Jeff Bridges, Timothy Bottoms, and Cybill Shepherd all charmed me and I especially enjoyed the small town’s cast of characters. Ellen Burstyn and Eileen Brennan were particularly fantastic, but Cloris Leachman absolutely stole the show for me, and rightly won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress that year. Ben Johnson also won Best Supporting Actor that year, his screen time of 9 minutes and 54 seconds marks it as the shortest performance to ever win that award. It’s not the happiest movie you’ll ever watch, but it represented a lot of heavy themes without also being egregiously sad, which I appreciated. It was melancholy, but it was engrossing, and surprisingly light-hearted at times. Truly, if I had any notes for this film it’d be to give Ellen Burstyn, Eileen Brennan, and Cloris Leachman more screen time, because I found their stories to be even more intriguing than that of the teenagers this film is centered around. There was as much critical acclaim to this film as there was drama, mostly involving Peter Bogdanovich: who began an affair with his ingenue Cybill Shepherd that in turn ended his marriage with his wife and production designer Polly Platt. It’s crazy to think that Peter Bogdanovich was only 31 when he made this film, especially considering the fact that he seemingly tried to stuff 20 years worth of controversy into one, career-defining film. With all of the death and uncertainty 2022 is bringing, The Last Picture Show feels like an apt vibe. But I’m going to try my best to think positively, and reorient my vibe from the solemn chillness of The Last Picture Show, to the quirky anything-can-happen freneticism of What’s Up, Doc? You might as well call me Barbra, because were I ever in a situation where I was in the same orbit as a 1970s Ryan O’Neal, I would also try to manic pixie dreamgirl my way into his heart. There’s more to this movie than just that, but there’s also… not. It is the screwiest of all of the screwball comedies I’ve ever seen but there’s something about this classic kind of physical comedy and its clear appreciation for cartoons that made it all the more enjoyable. Its constant slapstick and sight gags were just as much fun as the quippy dialogue and clever word play, but I had the most fun looking at Madeline Kahn and Ryan O’Neal act circles around everyone. This was both expectedly funny and unexpectedly funny, and so ruthlessly whimsical and ridiculous, especially by 1971’s standards. Clearly it was paying homage to older screwball comedies, but What’s Up, Doc? really brought something fresh and exciting to the ridiculousness. I loved Ryan O’Neal so much in Paper Moon and Barry Lyndon, I didn’t think I could be any more enamored with him but he was just wonderful, and truly even funnier as a comedic leading man than I’ve ever given him credit for. Babs was a gorgeously, unabashedly wacko catalyst for the chaos, and her random singing only felt a little bit jarring amid a goofy ass comedy like this one. The ensemble cast of players in this series of hilariously unfortunate events were all superb, with specific props to the always sensational Madeline Kahn, the ubiquitous Mabel Albertson and her scene-stealing wardrobe, and the pointedly funny Kenneth Mars, who is allegedly playing a parody of a particular film critic who’d negatively reviewed The Last Picture Show. The entire film pays homage to the zany comedies of the 30s and 40s, but the aesthetic, style, and delightfully bright color scheme of this film added to its cartoonish, uniquely 70s qualities which I loved. It’s cute, but not overly so, funny in a way that is both time-specific and timeless, and I’m sorry but I cannot get over how hot Ryan O’Neal is! Seriously, someone let me know if they have any intel on Ryan O’Neal and see if he actually likes girls with big noses because, if so… What the fuck is up, Doc?